


Cyar'ika, You're Already in my Veins

by Hylophobic



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blame My Beta Reader, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Gay Disaster Din, M/M, Protective Din Djarin, Romance, Spooktober, The Author Regrets Nothing, They Encourage Me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27056197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hylophobic/pseuds/Hylophobic
Summary: When the child falls ill, Din is forced to make a detour to find someone able to help treat the little one. What he finds is a doctor that has a strange pull about him. At first, the Mandalorian chalks it up to a foolish child-like crush, but he soon discovers that this eccentric man may be more than just a pretty face.He might have just invited a creature of myth aboard his ship.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 95





	1. The Elders Told of a Predator that Stalks the Night

It starts off as a sniffle.

At first, Din writes it off as allergies when the tiny green child sneezes and rubs at his nose, making a disgruntled sound. 

“We’ll get you a mask next time we land,” he reassures the toddler.

The dust and grit of the desert planet they’d stopped at a few days ago for supplies had even managed to slip past the filters in his helmet, leaving the Mandalorian with irritated eyes and a runny nose. He couldn’t imagine what the poor creature must be feeling.

The only protection they had for the little one was a cloth blanket he’d wrapped around the tot to keep the dual suns from burning his son’s ears, so it stood to reason that the child would have a harder time with the arid environment.

He sighs, bends down to scoop the little one into his arms, and heads back up to the cockpit.

Din would just keep a close eye on the tyke for a few days.

It was probably just allergies, right?

*~~*~~*~~*

This, this… was not allergies.

Or, if it was, then it was a much more severe case than Din experienced.

When the sneezing had tapered off the Mandalorian had been relieved, thinking that was the end of that. However, that evening brought something else. Something far worse than a little sniffle.

He’d found a small moon off the grid, far enough away from civilization that he didn’t have to look over his shoulder constantly, and one that hosted a temperate climate. He had set the RazorCrest down in a small clearing in the middle of a forested area with the plan to camp out for a few days. It was a quiet location, one that didn’t seem to have any large carnivores, so he thought they could use this time to unwind. Maker only knew they both needed it. 

The child had been put to bed nearly two hours ago, and Din was just about to head that way himself when he heard it.

A hoarse, barking-like sound. It sounded… _painful._

For a moment, he thought it was some type of animal, moving towards the ramp to investigate, but paused just outside that small compartment that he’d converted into a sleeping space for the little one.

The noise started up again, this time louder, and Din’s stomach dropped when he carefully opened the paneling to the tiny alcove.

The child peered out at him, eyes red-rimmed and tears slipping freely from the large orbs.

 _“Ad’ika,”_ he asked softly, his shaking hands hovering over the inconsolable tot.

The little one whimpered, then let loose another round of those agonizing coughs.

Din quickly picked the green child up, pressing him close to his armored chest and bringing up his other hand to rub, what he hopes, are soothing circles into the child’s back.

It was then that the Mandalorian realized just how _warm_ the little one is.

A fever. His child had a fever and seemed hellbent on coughing up a lung.

A sudden wave of panic washes over him. His child was sick, could be dying judging by that horrible noise, and he had decided to land on a planet that had no settlements.

He was an idiot.

Din squeezes the now sobbing toddler closer, and lets out quivering breath.

He needed to keep it together. If not for himself, then for the little one in his care.

The Mandalorian moved stiffly towards the cockpit, racking his brain.

Once he sat down in the captain’s chair, his one free hand began the process of booting up the engines and various systems. The limb moved purely on muscle memory as the other arm kept his son safety tucked under his helm.

He hadn’t been in this system before, but he knew there was a part of the sector nearby that hosted a large number of space ports. Normally, he’d steer clear of those places, far too many people shoved into a far too small hamlet. Now though, he didn’t have the luxury to be picky.

One of those planets had to have a doctor that could help, right?

*~~*~~*~~*

 _Ad’ika_ refuses to be put down, everytime Din tries the little one screeches which quickly dissolves into several minutes of hacking.

They’d been on a nearly non-stop loop of jumps for 6 hours straight. The Mandalorian has serious concerns that the RazorCrest’s engines may overheat and shut down completely before they're able to reach one of the outer planets of the system.

During that time, the child’s health hadn’t improved. In fact, the little one now wheezed every time he tried to pull a lungful of air in. At least, he seemed able to breathe a bit easier while propped up in Din’s arms, so he wasn’t going to deny the child what little comfort he could offer.

Gazing out of the front viewing port, he spotted the steadily growing planet in the distance. It was the closest in this system, but held a large port which, hopefully, meant there might be several medical facilities.

Sighing, Din leaned back in his seat, careful to not jostle the sleeping toddler on his chest.

The poor little thing had passed out from exhaustion a few minutes ago, which gave him enough time to scan over the city and select a relatively safe landing zone.

Checking over the coordinates, Din laid in a course that would put the RazorCrest just outside of the busy port in a more secluded spot.

He only hoped whatever illness his child had was treatable.

*~~*~~*~~*

His son is, thankfully, still asleep when they land, so he wraps the little one a blanket and slips out into the chilly night air.

It takes a few minutes to reach town, but when he does the Mandalorian sticks to the shadows and begins his search.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take as long as he thought it would.

He watches a drunken human port worker being escorted out of a building by a tall, lean man. From his vantage point in a side alleyway, Din can hear the other man’s exasperated, yet patient mumblings to the inebriated gentleman.

Once the slurring worker gets his feet under him and doesn’t seem in danger of losing his footing, he pushes away from his human crutch with a huff to forge his own path down the darkened street. The Mandalorian hears the drained exhale from the remaining man, before he turns to head back into the building.

A quick glance around shows no other signs of life, and he hastily slides from his hiding spot. The door to the hut doesn’t even have time to close before he slips in behind the lean figure. He notes the various medical devices, each in a different state of disrepair, and feels a slightly giddy bubble of hope blossom in his chest.

The man in front of him freezes, probably just realizing he wasn’t alone anymore.

“Listen,” the human whispers, slowly lifting his hands up without turning around. “We’re closed for the night and, honestly, I don’t have any credits on me so…”

“I’m not here to rob you,” Din grumbles. “I need a doctor…”

It’s at that exact moment that the child decided to wake with a round of those horrible, barking coughs. He pulls the little one further up, pressing him under the chin of his helmet and pats the convulsing back of the child.

A noise pulls his attention from his son to discover the man moving swiftly around the room to yank an odd-looking mask from a cabinet. Din watches the ‘doctor’ shove a small canister into the side of the apparatus, then look over to the pair at the door.

The Mandalorian is momentarily stunned by bright green eyes centered in an attractive face. He allows his sight to roam; taking in the auburn hair that’s tied into a small bun atop the man’s head, then skimming down the slender body.

He startles violently when the other man takes a step towards them, hand quickly settling on the blaster holstered at his hip. The man blinks, looks confused then almost sad and raises his hands in a placating manner.

“It’s okay,” the human tries to reassure, that weird mask-thing dangling from one of his hoisted hands. “My name’s Owen and I think I know what’s wrong with the little one there.”

Din frowns and doesn’t reply, but he does allow his stance to relax a bit.

The red-head moves a bit closer, this time at a slower pace and cautiously reaches out to gently run a finger over a large green ear. When the child turns his tear streaked face towards the newcomer, Owen gives him a small smile.

“Hey there, little one,” the man quietly hums, before holding out the face covering. “I know this may look kinda scary, but I promise it’s gonna make you feel better so just bear with it for a bit. Okay?”

His son blinks owlishly at the stranger, and, taking that as permission, Owen slips the mask over his face. The Mandalorian watches as the man fastens the device in place, then clicks a few buttons on the side. The contraption gives a hiss, and the tiny tot immediately goes lax in his arms with a soft sigh.

“What,” Din asks, cocking his helmet at the tyke before looking up at the doctor for an explanation.

“Croup,” Owen states, giving him a lopsided grin and a shrug. “Upper respiratory infection.”

“Croup,” he repeats, glancing down at the reclining child. “He’ll be okay?”

The man laughs. “Oh, yeah. He’ll be fine. Croup’s rarely deathly, but it shouldn’t be taken lightly either, since it mucks around in a kid’s lungs.”

He absorbs that for a moment, both men content to watch the child’s breathing deepen as he’s finally able to get a full lungful of oxygen.

“I felt… off a few days ago,” he murmurs, eyes flickering up to stare at the man.

Owen gives a little shrug again, but doesn’t look too shocked by the news. “Croup mostly affects small children, but adults can get it too. The big difference is our size.”

“Our size?”

He gets a hum of affirmation. “Our respiratory systems and airways are bigger so croup isn’t as serious for a healthy adult. Let me guess. You had a runny nose or a ticklish throat for a day or two, then nothing?”

Din nods.

“Yeah, that’s croup. Adults can pass it off as allergies, but kids aren't so lucky. I mostly see it in small toddlers. Really though, it was that cough that confirmed it. Once you hear the sound a kid with croup makes, you never really forget it. It just sounds so-.”

“Painful,” the Mandalorian interjects as he runs a gentle finger over the fluff atop the child’s head.

The red-head hums. “Yeah.”

“So this,” he grunts, motioning towards the mask still attached to the toddler’s face. “Will cure him?”

“Uh,” Owen starts, pauses, then winces. “Well, there isn’t _really_ a cure for it. That mask… uh, thing… is a nebulizer. A fancy word to describe something that just turns meds into a mist. It’s an older model, but, hey, it still works. The canister has a concoction of steroids that will help reduce the inflammation so he can actually breathe.”

“And after?”

“Look,” the man sighs, suddenly looking tired as he runs a hand over the back of his head. “The kid’s probably gonna still feel crappy for a few days, but the medication will help. I’ll give you a liquid form of it that you’ll need to give to him every day, _with food_ , but he is gonna get better.”

The bounty hunter stares the man down for a few minutes before snorting in amusement.

“Is ‘crappy’ your medical diagnosis as a doctor?”

Owen pointedly looks away. “Depends…”

“On what?”

The man chews his bottom lip for a moment before glancing back at the Mandalorian. “On if you're gonna hit me when you find out I’m not exactly a _real_ doctor.”

Din straightens, turning his helm sharply towards the man. For his part, the ‘doctor’ looks almost resigned.

“You’re not a doctor,” he states slowly. It isn’t a question.

The red-head frowns, shrugging. “I know my way around human anatomy pretty well. Everything else, well I just kinda picked that up along the way. Honestly, I was going to go to school for it. Become a legit, licensed physician…”

“But,” he presses.

“But,” Owen grumbles, refusing to meet the Mandalorian’s visor. “Then the Imperials came to my planet. It was either work for them or die. I choose the third option.”

“You ran.”

“I ran.”

A silence settles over them after the man’s confession, the only sound is the child’s relieved breathing and the occasional hiss from the nebulizer.

The ‘not-doctor’ shifts his weight restlessly, shoulders slumped in defeat.

“So,” the red-head slowly starts. “You haven’t hit me yet.”

“No,” he confirms.

“... Are you going to?”

“...No.”

“Oh! Okay, that… that’s good.”

 _Honestly, I don’t even know why I told you all that,_ is whispered under the lean man’s breath, and Din has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

He’s normally not this chatty with strangers, or anyone honestly, but there’s something about this man that has him relaxing just the tiniest bit.

Plus, the child didn’t seem afraid of him. He’d almost expected it after the Mandalorian had rescued the little one from his previous experience with that Imperial doctor.

“Well, uh,” Owen awkwardly grunts. “You might as well get comfortable-”

“What?”

“Um,” the man blinks at the bounty hunter, tilting his head in what Din refuses to acknowledge is a cute manner. “I need to monitor the little one for a few hours. You know? Make sure the steroid does it’s job and he doesn’t have any adverse reactions to the meds so…”

The ‘not-doctor’ motions further into the room, mainly to a bed with a chair set next to it.

“I thought you were closed,” the Mandalorian recalls.

He definitely isn’t trying to stall. Nope, not him.

Owen gives him a dry look. “I just gave your kid medication. I might not have a medical license, but I’m not just gonna throw you guys out. I’m not _that_ irresponsible. Just... sit down. It’s going to take at least an hour for that canister to run dry anyway.”

He hesitates, looks down at the drowsy youngling in his arms, then sighs. He moved away from the door, skirting around the thinner man, and headed towards the offered bunk. He tried to pry his son’s small talons away from where they gripped his breastplate, but that only earned him a whine from the little one so with another sigh he, instead, sat down on the cot.

“He’s got you wrapped around his little finger,” the other man laughs as he watches Din get settled.

The Mandalorian hums, but doesn’t try to deny it.

Owen turned his back to the pair to check the door, then began the process of cleaning the room. Din almost asked if he needed help, but remembering the child in his hands, kept his mouth shut. Instead, he watched the man move around the room, checking each device he came to before powering it down.

The next hour passed slowly, but by the time Owen had made a circuit of the room, the child was fast asleep.

The bounty hunter was even leaning lazily against the wall at his back as he watched the man check over the prepped room one more time. When the ‘not-doctor’ turned to them, Din pushed himself up.

“Okay, let’s check on him, then…”

A heavy bang against the door to the clinic cut the man off.

His son startled awake, ears suddenly perked towards the noise. He watched as the little one narrowed his eyes in concentration, then let out a soft whimper.

Owen shifted forwards, reaching a hand out, only to jump when Din snatched his hand away and pulled him bodily back.

“Mando, what-?”

Whatever he was going to ask died in the red-head’s throat when something slammed into the wooden barrier again, this time causing some of the door to splinter.

“Hunters,” he spoke, voice lowered into a deep growl of frustration. “Knew it was a risk to come here-.”

“Wait, what do you mean hunters,” Owen whispers furiously, eyeing the entrance with a growing expression of dread.

The Mandalorian hesitates, but the other man glances from him to the door then down at the quaking child he had pressed to his chest.

“They aren’t after you,” the ‘not-doctor’ murmurs with a sharp look of horror. “They’re after the kid, aren’t they?”

Din gives a tight nod.

“Kriff.” And, honestly, he couldn’t agree more with the man.

He’s almost positive it isn’t just one bounty hunter out there. He’d gotten a reputation amongst the other guild members as a tough opponent, only a fool would go against him alone. So the Mandalorian could assume the building was probably surrounded.

He’s reaching for his blaster when the other man cautiously places a hand on his arm, and Din sharply turns his helmet to glance back at the red-head.

“The roof,” Owen mutters, giving his arm a tug and nearly drags the armored man towards a curtain on the other side of the room. “The houses here are built close together. So if we make it to the roof, we could escape that way.”

Din quickly recovers from the initial shock of being manhandled just in time to watch the medic fling the fabric aside to reveal a narrow set of stairs.

Then Owen’s words sink in.

“We,” he asks, trailing behind the man as the ‘not-doctor’ takes two stairs at a time.

“We,” the red-head grumbles. “The Imps showed up in this sector a few months ago, and I heard a couple of doctors have gone missing in the area, only to pop back up as corpses later down the line. I’m assuming the Empire is looking for physicians to help treat their soldiers. The ones that refuse-.”

Another loud impact causes both men to pause, listening carefully. When it’s clear the bounty hunters haven’t breached the door yet, they continue up to the second floor landing and Owen pulls the Mandalorian down the hallway on the right.

“So why are you running from the hunters then?”

The man huffs impatiently. “The bounty hunters in this port are kinda buddy-buddy with the Imps.”

He doesn’t elaborate, he doesn’t need to. Din could put the pieces together himself, and it doesn’t paint a pretty picture.

If Owen had stayed behind, it would only take a quick look around the room for the hunters to guess the man’s occupation.

He shakes his head as the image of dead, vacate green eyes appears in his mind. With a growl the Mandalorian picks up his pace, grabbing the red-head’s hand as he passes and nearly dragging the yelping man behind him.

He’d take the man with him, maybe drop him off on a safer planet in a sector with a small or non-existent Empire presence.

The man had helped his son, so it was the least that Din could do for the unlicensed medic, right?

*~~*~~*~~*

Slipping out of the doctor’s bedroom window out onto the roof is surprisingly easy, as is hopping over to the neighboring roof. They’re a few houses down from the clinic, making decent time, when both men startle at a shout.

Din curses when a blaster shot whizzes past his shoulder, barely catches the grunt of pain beside him, before cutting his eyes to the side to discover a shadowed form perched atop the building across the street. He barely makes out the blaster rifle the figure is holding before pulling out his own sidearm, aims, and fires in one smooth arch before pushing the frozen red-head with a hissed ‘go, go’.

The damage was done, however, he hears a chorus of other voices sounding out behind them. He can only hope that they have enough of a head start to make it to the RazorCrest before the hunters over take them.

He blames the adrenaline that blurs the next few minutes, as the two men sprint across the rooftops, for not noticing immediately. It’s when he glances over one pauldron, to try to gauge the distance of their pursuers, that he hears it. 

Owen’s breathing sounded… wrong.

His helmet whips around to check on the man, and his blood runs cold when he sees the growing red spot on the man’s side. The Mandalorian remembers the gunshot a few moments before, the exclamation of pain… Fuck.

“You’ve been hit,” he snarls, angry not at the man, but himself for not taking notice earlier.

“Just a graze,” Owen pants, grimaces when he brings a hand up to apply pressure to the wound. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding a lot for someone who’s _fine.”_

“Oh, yeah! Let me just stop right here and patch myself up,” the man shoots right back, taking his eyes away from his feet just long enough to glare at the Mandalorian. “I’m sure the guys currently trying to _kill_ us wouldn’t mind taking a break while I take care of it. Think I should ask them, Mando?”

He can’t help the huff of laughter this time. The man either had guts, or the rapid loss of blood was affecting his filter.

“Stay close,” he grunts, moving to shrink the distance between them. “My armor can take the hits from this distance without any trouble. Let’s try to keep you from getting anymore holes.”

“Please and thank you,” he hears the doctor wheeze as they pick up the pace.

*~~*~~*~~*

Even with the wound in his side, Owen does an amazing job at keeping up with the Mandalorian, and with his knowledge of the city the men are able to actually lose the pack of hunters long enough to make it to the rocking outcropping he’d left the ship parking on.

He can still hear the angry shouts of their pursuers, but they have a good lead now so all they have to do is…

Din growls when a weight slams into him from the back, vaguely he hears the red-head call out to him. The armored man is able to keep his feet under him though, and whips around to smash the hilt of his blaster into the hunter’s head.

Unfortunately, his opponent was wearing a helmet. The cheap duraplastic cracking under the impact, but it did its job of protecting the owner from a split skull. Though, it does stun the human for a moment.

Out of the corner of his visor, another human is trying to grapple Owen into a headlock, but the man was doing an admirable job of twisting out of the way even with the still bleeding injury.

Din is forced to pull his eyes away when his challenger manages to shake off the confusion and tries to strike out at the armored warrior. He can’t help but smirk when the man’s blow lands, clenched fist punching square at his own helmet, only to hear the satisfying crunch of the man’s knuckles against the unforgiving beskar.

The red-head cries out in surprise from across the rocking ledge, and what little patience the Mandalorian had instantly evaporates.

While the hunter cradles his injured hand, Din brings his blaster up again. This time the weakened material isn’t strong enough to withstand the hit and shatters, the hunter going limp and crumbling into a heap at his feet.

He quickly turns, bringing his weapon up, ready to fire, but freezes.

The second hunter is laying motionless in a growing pool of gore, Owen sits close by trying to regain his breathing with blood smeared around his mouth and under his nose.

Din hastily moves to the man’s side, glancing down at the other corpse, before looking the medic over for any further injuries. Finding none, he sits back on his heels.

“Your face,” he gestures to the mess adoring the medic and slowly dripping down onto the man’s once clean shirt.

The red-head swears, reaching up to prod his nose and the surrounding flesh. “Guy got a lucky hit in. I don’t think it’s broken.”

The Mandalorian nods, grabs one of Owen’s arms, and hoists the man to his feet.

“Come on,” he nudges the swaying doctor towards the ramp. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You know, I’m beginning to really hate this planet,” the man grumbles.

“I think I can see why.”

The ‘not-doctor’ snorts.

*~~*~~*~~*

Din breathes a sigh of relief once he’s punched in a course and the ship enters hyperdrive. He allows his helm to tip back, hitting the top of his chair with a soft thunk. They were safe for the time being, but he’d burned a lot of fuel by just trying to _reach_ that world which, unfortunately, meant they would need to refuel before leaving the system entirely.

A little coo draws his attention to the small toddler on his lap, still wearing that odd mask. The tyke peers up at him with a disgruntled look. He’d completely forgotten about that thing in their haste to flee the hunters.

The Mandalorian mutters a quick apology before carefully removing the offending device from the younglings face and sets it aside.

“Better,” he questions, and the little one coos sweetly up at him.

He’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then.

Content that the nav-system won’t steer them directly into the sun, Din pushes himself up to head to the ladder. He hears Owen swearing quietly to himself before he’s even made it to the last rung, and turns to check up on the red-head.

Only to freeze in place as his brain suddenly misfires.

The man is standing shirtless in the middle of the cargo hold, a bacta patch is already in place over the man’s injury. Din hadn’t seen how high up the man had been shot and balks when he realizes just how close the red-head was from getting a hole punched through one of his lungs.

The ruined shirt had been torn into rags which the doctor was currently using to gingerly clean away the quickly drying spatter of blood from his face.

The Mandalorian takes in the man’s lean, muscular back and feels a flush rising to his cheeks.

A coo from the child alerts the red-head that he has company, and the man jolts in surprise as he twists around to face them.

Din clears his throat. “Are you going to live?”

The doctor chuckles, then hisses as he doubles over in pain. “Kriff, okay. Not gonna die, but laughing is off the menu for a day or two.”

The Mandalorian moves closer, and helps guide the man over to his rack. Owen hesitates, but a light nudge from the armored warrior has him relenting so the man settles on the cot.

“I think I have a spare shirt in my bag,” the medic groans, running a tired hand over his eyes. “Can you hand it to me?”

He places the child on the bed next to the thinner man and turns to fetch the discarding rucksack.

When he glances back to the pair, it’s to find his son sitting comfortably in Owen's lap, who gives him an exhausted smile and a little shrug.

“Guess he likes me?”

Din hums, holding out the man’s pack which the red-head takes gratefully.

“You should get some sleep-.”

“I’m fine-.”

“You got shot,” he points out dryly, and watches the man frown up at him.

“I didn’t really get shot, though-.”

 _“Fine,”_ the Mandlorian grits out, clenching his jaw. “But you _are_ injured.”

“I guess…”

“Owen,” the _beyora_ huffs, he’s too tired to keep arguing with the man. “Just rest. Please.”

The man sighs, pulling a shirt from his bag and gives the warrior a nod. “Alright.”

Din debates taking the child back up to the cockpit with him, but the little one seemed perfectly happy where he was, so he decides against it.

When he moves back to the ladder, Din pauses for a moment, sparing the man a quick glance over his shoulder.

“Anywhere in particular I can drop you off?”

The red-head cocks his head, contemplating the question, before answering tentatively. “Somewhere without any Imperials?”

The Mandalorians hums, calling back over his shoulder: “I’ll see what I can do.”

Once he’s back in the cockpit, Din runs the man’s words through his head. Owen wanted a place out of the Empire’s reach. He could understand that, but a world like that could prove difficult to find.

Near impossible, knowing the resources that the Imps had at their disposal.

It might take him a while to find a planet like that.

Which meant they would be stuck with the doctor for quite some time.

The Mandalorian allows a smile to stretch across his face at the thought.

*~~*~~*~~*

He had thought that having another person aboard the ship would wear on his nerves. Din was used to traveling, and living alone. At least, until the child. It had taken him a while to get used to sharing his living quarters with a creature not even one-fourth his size, so having another full grown adult should have been a test of wills for him.

Only… it wasn’t. He actually found he enjoyed having the man around.

Owen, for his part, did his best to stay out of the Mandalorian’s way, seemed like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. The doctor didn’t appear afraid of the _beyora,_ just… cautious. Like the red-head couldn’t fathom why he was being allowed to stay aboard the RazorCrest, much less share a room with the other man.

As for the little one, _Ad’ika_ had grown rather attached to the medic in a short amount of time. The tot would follow him around the room like a duckling, climbing into the lone bunk when Owen turned in for the night, even whining if the other man spilled into the refresher. On more than one occasion, the Mandalorian would physically have to hold the annoyed toddler while the other man took care of his personal hygiene, only to pass the child back over once the doctor reemerged.

Owen never complained, though. He treated the child like his own, voice always patient and touch gentle.

That on its own cemented the idea of keeping the man with him and the child.

He decided to land on a less populated world to refuel, but not before orbiting the planet for about an hour. The Mandalorian watched the radar with bated breath, almost expecting the band of hunters to drop out of hyperdrive at any moment. When no ships, other than an old cargo freighter, appeared Din finally steered the Crest into the planet’s atmosphere.

Granted an hour wasn’t a long time, but a competent tracker would have been able to catch up to them by now.

He set the RazorCrest down in a quiet shipyard, but grimaced when the outer door opened to reveal a desert planet. The child in his arms huffed and frowned at the dunes of sand that threatened to spill over the durasteel walls that had been erected to protect the port, and he found himself agreeing with the kid’s assessment of the world.

Owen trails behind him like a shadow, but materializes at his side to pluck the kid out of his hands when the Mandalorian gets into an argument with a crotchety Sluissi port worker. He’s able to haggle the price down to an acceptable rate, but not without the snake-like alien hissing at him venomously.

“Everything okay,” the red-head asks, eyeing the alien as Din turns his attention back to the pair.

“Fine,” he grunts, reaching out to brush a finger over the green toddler’s fuzzy head. “Shouldn’t take long for them to finish up.”

The doctor chews his lip in thought, and the Din cocks his helm. “What?”

“How long do you think it’ll take to get to the next planet,” Owen asks carefully.

The Mandalorian shrugs. “A few days to the next system, but unless we’re running low on supplies I don’t plan on stopping there. Why?”

The ginger looks a little green at the information, but recovers quickly. “Do we have enough time for me to do a little shopping?”

“Shopping?”

“I’m a doctor-.”

“Without a license.”

“... I’m going to ignore that. Anyway, I’m a doctor. I like to be prepared, hence the shopping.”

Din shifts his weight, hesitating. “Be back in an hour. If you're not, we’re leaving without you.”

Which was a bloody lie, but Owen didn’t need to know that.

Owen grins up at him, and his heart does a weird little palpitation in response. He hands the child over to the Mandalorian, and immediately scrambles away.

“Shouldn’t take an hour. Don’t worry,” the medic calls over his shoulder, disappearing through an archway leading further into the town. “I’ll be back.”

*~~*~~*~~*

The bounty hunter doesn’t pace around the shipyard, but it’s a close thing.

True to his word, the ‘not-doctor’ is back within the hour with a bag of supplies slung over one shoulder.

What catches Din’s eye, though, is the small stain of red above the man’s upper lip. He’d been in enough battles to recognize dried blood.

Owen walks right up to him with a smile, which falls as soon as the armored warrior moves into his space and takes a hold of the red-head’s chin.

“Wha-.”

“Are you bleeding,” he demands, turning the man’s face to try to spot any obvious injuries.

Owen blinks, and cocks his head at the question.

“Your nose,” the Mandalorian motions towards his own face, before he remembers the helmet.

Luckily, the red-head seems to understand and laughs uncomfortably.

“Oh! Uh, yeah _._ My nose started bleeding again while I was out. Probably this dry air. I’ve never really been a fan of desert planets.”

“Neither have I,” Din admits, stiff posture relaxing, then nods towards the ship. “They just finished up. Let’s get off this dust ball.”

*~~*~~*~~*

Something was wrong with Owen.

It had taken a few days for him to notice anything was amiss, he’d been too focused on getting them away from Imperial space and carefully plotting a course that would keep them off any nearby bounty hunter’s radar. There was also the fact that he’d received an encoded communication from Paz letting him know that the covert had survived the attack on Nevarro. In the message, the heavy gunner had promised to send him the tribe’s new coordinates as soon as they found a suitable world.

In all fairness, Din had had a lot on his mind, so he couldn’t be completely at fault for not catching on to the red-head’s odd behavior.

It started off with small things at first.

An increasing lack of interest in food. Which, honestly, he could understand. They only had pre-packaged rations or protein bars on-board the ship. The ‘meals’ were gritty and left much to be desired.

The man started looking a bit more pale than he had while they were planetside. Din chalked that up to a limited exposure to UV light, so he simply pressed a few more vita pills into the other man’s hands as supplements.

Then, the red-head started sleeping more. Owen normally didn’t sleep long, just a handful of hours at a time, but he always seemed to wake up well rested so the Mandalorian hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with the man’s weird sleeping habit. Then something changed. The other man started acting drowsy, or at times exhausted. His speech would slur, he’d have a harder time following a conversation, and, just this morning, Din had to reach a hand out to catch the man from falling asleep in his own breakfast.

The _beyora_ found himself suddenly concerned for the man’s wellbeing, and angry at himself for not seeing the signs sooner.

He gave the nav-system a quick once over, and, once he was satisfied, pushed himself up to move to the ladder. Din had plotted out this series of jumps specifically to give them time. Time he would need to talk to his… _the_ doctor.

He paused when he stepped into the cargo bay, the room dark and still. The child’s sleeping compartment was cracked open just wide enough for him to spot the napping toddler within. The warrior’s heart nearly leapt into his throat when he didn’t hear the man’s breathing at first. When he does, it's weak, just barely audible in the small space.

The Mandalorian moves towards the bunk and crouches down to eye the heap of blankets piled over the man’s form, then reaches out a hand to delicately lift a corner of one of the coverings.

Din freezes when the eyes of the other man meet his own.

The green of the man’s irises are still there, now dulled with fatigue, but the whites have turned an inky black and he feels his stomach drop at the sight.

When he was a child, the elders of his tribe had told him and the other foundlings tales of creatures that looked human, but prowled the darkness of the night to feed on the blood of unfortunate victims.

The younglings always ate up the wild stories, sitting with rapt attention as the veteran warriors wove intricate accounts of beings with eyes as dark as the void of space, and fabled fangs sharp enough to cut through durasteel plating.

He had thought those fables were just that, old legends passed down from one generation to the next.

But, here he was, staring into the eyes of a myth.

 _“Tal chakaar,”_ he whispers, too stunned to do anything but gawk at the exhausted creature before him.

_Blood thief._

Owen blinks slowly at him, tongue darting out to wet his parched lips and Din’s eyes flicker down fast enough to catch a glimpse of elongated canine teeth.

“‘M sorry,” the red-head softly murmurs, turning his face away in shame.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Owen?”

The man grimaces, hissing in pain, though the Mandalorian can see no injuries, and shifts to get more comfortable.

“I’ve been chased away for less,” the man admits, squeezing his tired eyes closed and curling into himself like he expects a blow.

The Mandalorian’s gut twists at the very idea.

“What do you need? Blood, right?”

That head of red hair snaps up at his question, eyes growing impossibly wide.

“Mando,” Jon breathes out in shock. “I-I can’t ask you…”

Steeling his nerves, Din begins to undo the latches keeping one of the beskar vambraces in place, and the doctor’s breath catches in his throat when the armor is set aside and the warrior rolls up the sleeve of his undersuit to reveal bareskin.

“You do not need to ask. Not if I offer this to you willingly.”

When he looks up the thinner man is giving him a slack-jawed look of awe, and it’s only now that he sees the dark bruises around the creature’s eyes. A sharp stab of guilt cuts through his heart when he truly takes in the wretched form.

He should have noticed the man’s declining health sooner.

Din prides himself in the fact that his hands do not shake when he pulls his glove off and he extends the bare arm towards the starving being.

Green eyes track the limb with single-minded hunger, and the man’s breathing picks up.

“Owen,” he pleads quietly, longing to lean forward, but unwilling to crowd the skittish man. “Drink.”

Quick as lightning, a hand shoots out from under the blankets and latches onto his wrist. The armored warrior finds the grip is stronger than the frail figure of the medic would suggest. The idea of discovering just how strong the man is sends a thrill down his spine, and he stamps down the feeling. He could explore that avenue of thought at a later time.

The red-head tugs at his arm, testing Din’s resolve, giving the Mandalorian time to back out should he choose.

Instead, the warrior holds extremely still, patiently waiting for the man to make his decision.

He’s already running through possible other strategies in his head, should the man choose not to feed from him. They have sedatives aboard the ship, he could put the man under until they reach a safe world, then hunt for something that could satiate the creature’s thirst.

He’s making a mental list of M-class planets in the sector that could prove to be a quiet detour should they need it when Owen emerges from his cocoon.

The doctor is nearly white as a sheet, and there’s a subtle tremble to his limbs that causes the Mandalorian to reach out in an attempt to steady the slimmer frame.

But he freezes when the other man tips his head down, and swipes a warm tongue over the skin of his wrist.

The Mandalorian’s brain blanks, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach and breath sputtering in his throat.

Pain flares up suddenly in his arm, hot and acute, as teeth pierce the vulnerable fresh, and the Mandalorian has to fight the instinctual need to pull away. There are two hands gripping at him, one holding his palm and other at his elbow, keeping him in place with an iron grip. The bounty hunter clenches his teeth against the burn, and tries to distract himself by trying to guess which planet the Armorer will choose for the covert’s new home.

He had expected the pain from the bite, what he hadn’t accounted for was the spike of _pleasure_ when Owen shallows his first mouthful of blood _._ The sensation starts as his fingertips and travels quickly up his arm, down into his chest, before suddenly changing course, and flooding his brain with endorphins.

The Mandalorian bites the inside of his mouth to prevent the moan that threatens to escape.

When the doctor takes another long pull from his wrist, a pleasant tingle replaces whatever ache that was left.

Din blinks, cheeks reddening under his helmet when he realizes he’s _hard_ , suddenly thankful that he’s wearing a codpiece to hide his… problem.

With the agony lifted from the forefront of his mind, he could actually _feel_ the blood being drained from his body. Which should probably be more disturbing than it is, but he finds a delightful little haze clouding his mental facilities.

So this was how these beings restrained their prey.

Din should probably be more concerned with the fact that his companion may or may not now think of him as a food source, but he just can’t seem to dredge up enough energy to _care_.

The other man moves further out of his nest, and, in his foggy state, Din feels his arm being moved gently around into a more comfortable angle. The Mandalorian isn’t sure what exactly is happening anymore, his mind too tired to focus on his surroundings, but when he registers warmth from another body the armored man brings his free arm up to reel it in closer to himself.

Hazily, he hears a squeak of surprise that sounds far away, but he pays it no mind. Instead, Din tugs at the heat source until he’s got a lap full of warmth that he curls possessively around with a pleased growl.

As quick as it all began, it ends nearly as suddenly.

Fangs retract from his wrist, but all he feels is a slight pinch then the press of that wet tongue again, lapping over the wound. The haze lifts almost instantly, and he gives his helmet a little shake to clear whatever cobwebs remain.

Reality comes crashing down on him then, when he relieves that the weight in his lap is Owen.

The red-head is straddling his hips with one of Din's arms curled around the man’s lower back, nearly crushing the man to his armored chest.

He loosens his grip, but doesn’t completely let go. The other man doesn’t seem to have noticed their… unusual position yet, the medic is still focused on the Mandalorian’s wrist, and Din slowly looks down at his arm.

The area around the wound looks pale and raw, but he doesn’t feel any discomfort, so directs his gaze to the injury itself. There’s a clear indent of teeth in the flesh, four holes marking where the longer fangs had broken the skin. He flexes the hand, and watches more blood well up from the holes, and Owen makes a noise of disapproval. Then, his skin _shifts,_ and right before his eyes the small lacerations knit close. The only thing left behind is a slightly reddened patch of flesh which he could pass off as a nearly healed burn from a blaster round.

“Sorry, I took more than I should have,” the red-head mumbles guiltily. “I didn’t mean to. I-I was just so _hungry_.”

He cocks his helmet at that. “Am I in any danger of dying?”

“What?! No, I-.”

“Owen,” Din calls out patiently, squeezing the other man’s waist with his good arm. “It was a joke.”

“Oh.”

The doctor licks his lips, tongue still chasing the remnants of the Mandalorian’s blood, and that really shouldn’t be as hot as it is…

Then, Owen’s nostrils flare and he looks down sharply.

“Oh,” the man breaths, eyes widening as he becomes aware of their situation.

Din watches the man flush when the red-head glances down at the Mandalorian’s lap, and his heart suddenly leaps into his throat as a sudden thought pops into his head.

“Can you tell-,” he trails off, hoping the man understands and his own face lights up in a bright blush when the medic reluctantly nods.

“I, um, can kinda smell it?”

“Kriff,” he groans.

He should be mortified, but his head is still fuzzy so it’s a bit hard to gather enough wits to feel any shame. It almost feels like he’s intoxicated, not fully in control of his movements as his fingers skim over the man’s thigh.

Owen swallows, chews his lip for a moment, then gives Din a shy smile. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m flattered.”

He hums, feeling more bold when the doctor doesn’t pull away from the light touch.

“And, uh,” the red-head shutters, arching into his hand. “I’m interested. Very interested, but maybe we could, um, talk about this _after_ you recover from the blood loss?”

Din considers that, tilts his helm in thought. “Do I have to move?”

“I guess not,” Owen reluctantly replies. “But the cot would be softer than the floor.”

“Not by much,” he argues, slowly pulling his injured arm away from Owen’s lax grip. “I’m pretty comfortable where I am.”

“Oh, okay.”

The Mandalorian pauses, though, sensing something amiss. The doctor’s eyes wouldn’t meet his visor and kept skittering around the room.

“Owen,” he calls, resting both hands on the man’s waist and rubbing soothing circles into those lovely hips with his thumbs. “If this makes you uncomfortable…”

The man laughs, but it sounds a bit hysterical.

“It’s not that,” the man says, looking unsure of himself. “I normally don’t have people _volunteering_ to be fed from? And, usually, those I do feed from aren’t so… agreeable to it.”

Things begin to click into place for the Mandalorian, and, honestly, he could just smack himself if his hands weren’t currently busy.

“The hunter that attacked you,” he questions.

The red-head pouts. “He was trying to grab the kid… I guess I must have bitten down a little too hard or the guy moved the wrong way because I punctured an artery. I didn’t mean to kill him.”

The last part comes out in a hushed whisper, and Din squeezes the doctor closer.

“And your shopping trip?”

“You said we’d be traveling for a few days. Thought if I ate before we left then I’d be okay until we got planetside again.”

Din nods slowly, doing the math in his head. “We’ve been off-world for nearly 5 days, but you didn’t get weak until this morning.”

“You really want to talk about this now?”

He hums. “I want to do a lot of things, but I feel like this is an important conversation to have. Don’t you, Owen?”

The red-head flushes a bright red, mouth forming into a surprised ‘o’ and the Mandalorian snickers.

“So,” he prompts, fingers beginning to lightly massage into the muscle of the man’s flank. “How often do you need to drink blood?”

The doctor bites his lip, shuddering at his touch and Din preens.

“Uh, maybe every- _fuck, that’s really distracting_ \- every two days or so?”

“Good boy,” he praises, and Owen’s cheeks darken at the term of endearment. “How much do you need to take?”

“Jus-just a mouthful or two. I didn’t mean to take so much from you!”

The Mandalorian shushes him, one hand reaching up to rub along the man’s spine, and feels some of the tension ease from the other body.

“I know. You were hungry,” he consoles, giving one hip a quick squeeze. “I’m not upset.”

A few more quiet words, and a gentle touch calms the man into settling further into his lap. It’s almost like trying to soothe a spooked animal.

“Sorry,” Owen murmurs, looking away again, and Din reaches up to take a hold of the man’s chin so he can nudge the red-head’s face back towards him.

“I’m guessing your… prey isn’t too hospitable when they wake up?”

The medic grimaces at the term, and pouts. “No. Sometimes they lash out. Can’t say I really blame them, so I normally don’t stick around.”

Din nods, removing his hand from the man’s jaw to skim his fingers down to medic’s uninjured side.

“I’m, certainly, not complaining about this response though,” Owen laughs, gesturing at the both of them. 

“What are your people called,” he carefully prods, watching the man for any signs of unease.

“Vampyr,” he mutters, giving a one armed shrug. “At least, that’s what my sister told me. That and there are very few of us left out there.”

“Your sister told you? Not your parents,” the Mandalorian questions.

He gets a shake of the head in response, and Owen swallows. “Didn’t know them. I was raised by my older sister.”

The Mandalorian stores that bit of information away, and gently moves his hand over to the creature’s other side to hover over the blaster wound.

The man releases a shaky breath then slowly grabs at Din’s wrist to press the palm down over the injury.

“It’s pretty much healed now.”

“Let me guess,” he deadpans. “It would have healed quicker if you had a steady source of blood?”

Owen doesn’t answer, he doesn’t need to. The guilty expression that passes over his face is telling enough.

Din sighs. “Okay. You’ll feed from me until we land.”

“Wait,” the other man sputters, blinking owlishly. “Y-you’ll let me…”

“Drink my blood? Yes,” he huffs.

 _“Again,”_ the man stresses, shifting in the Mandalorian’s lap and Din grabs at the red-head’s hip with a growl. “You’ll let me feed from you _again?”_

He stares the doctor down. “I’m not going to let you starve.”

A faint ping from the cockpit rings out in the room, and he curses. “We’re going to be dropping out of warp soon.”

“Do I have to move,” Owen parrots, and the Mandalorian snorts.

“Up,” he demands, giving one leg a light swat.

“Okay, okay,” the red-head snickers, climbing to his feet and extending a hand towards the bounty hunter once he’s steady.

He feels another spike of arousal when the man easily pulls him to his feet. Manhandling a Mandalorian in full beskar armor was no easy feat after all.

Strangely, instead of shame, a thrill runs down his spine when Owen sniffs at the air, and lifts an accusatory brow at him. He doesn’t miss the shy, little smirk on the other man’s face.

With a huff, Din moves towards the ladder, but is stopped by a light touch to his bicep.

When he turns the doctor is holding out his misplaced vambrace. “Thanks, Mando-.”

“Din,” he interrupts, carefully lifting the armor from Owen’s fingers and running a hand over the shiny metal. “My name is Din.”

The medic seems stunned at first, then a bright smile breaks out over his face, making those green eyes sparkle.

He decides, then and there, that this man belonged with them… with him.


	2. You are the Hunter and the Prey...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Owen, and the child travel to a heavily populated planet to retrieve Paz.
> 
> The Mandalorian vows to never let the doctor out of his sight again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy heck, yeah I've still got this stuck in my head so...
> 
> It's really not my fault! WizardMoonwhisper encourages me.

They fall into a strange, but weirdly comfortable rhythm after the first feeding.

Every two days, like clockwork, Owen will come to him. The doctor always waits until the child is fast asleep before approaching the Mandalorian.

The other man is jumpy, at first, like he’s afraid to cross some invisible line that the bounty hunter has in place. It takes some time, and encouragement from Din, before the medic feels secure enough to freely explore his surroundings. Not that there's much for him to delve into, the RazorCrest is a small gunship after all, but he finds that he doesn’t mind the man’s curious examinations of his belongings.

In exchange for the blood, the doctor cooked and took on the role of caregiver to his son.

The red-head even manages to create more edible meals out of the dried rations that the  _ beyora _ has aboard the ship, which was a welcomed change.

Nearly a week of comfortable cohabitation passes before he hears back from Paz again. This time, the encoded message contains the thinly veiled hint that the covert had found a place to settle, as well as a request for pick up from a densely populated planet within the sector.

Owen gives him a questioning look over the small table they use to feed the toddler his meals when the man hears Din’s resigned sigh.

“Seems we’ve been asked to pick up one of my people from the planet he was using as a temporary shelter,” he explains, leaning forward to run a gloved finger over one of the child’s large ears.

The action gets him a happy little thrill before the child turns back to his food.

The other man frowns, but his attention goes back to feeding the little, green toddler. “Why does he need a ride? Did he run into trouble?”

Din snorts. “No trouble, other than he wasted his credits on a piece of garage ship.”

That startles a laugh out of the man, the bright sound warms something in his chest, and Din smiles.

“Let me guess,” the medic smirks up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth. “You told him not to buy it?”

He shifts his weight, and looks away..

“Paz has always been hard-headed,” he states, allowing the pout to filter into his voice.

His son makes a frustrated sound when the other man nearly drops the spoon from how hard he’s laughing now.

Din chuckles, reaching over to pluck the utensil from the red-head’s hand and turns to the hungry child as the sweet sound of the other man’s laughter rings out around them.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

The next time they land it’s, thankfully, not on a world with sweltering heat and sand. He hears Owen and the kid both release a sigh of relief when the lush greenery comes into view. This city seems to have been built into the root system of the massive trees that hang overhead. It would be beautiful, if he wasn’t in a hurry.

They leave the RazorCrest in the port to refuel and head to the closest inn.

They receive quite a few stares, some people even stumbling over their own feet to get a look at them. Being a Mandalorian, especially one in shiny new beskar, often brings a level of notoriety, but he’d become accustomed to it now.

Owen, however, presses himself as cross to his back as he physically can without actually stepping on Din’s cloak.

He glances back over his shoulder. “Doing okay back there?”

The red-head doesn’t answer right away, adjusting the makeshift sling on his chest that the child rests in instead.

“I guess I’m just used to blending in more,” the doctor quietly murmurs after a moment, eyes darting around the street. “Getting this much attention for… my kind normally means we’re being hunted.”

“I thought you were the ones  _ doing _ the hunting.”

“Sometimes,” Owen says, voice lowering when a group of Rodians pass close by. “But when you're hunting other sentient beings you run the risk of angering a population that has the advantage of numbers.”

Which makes perfect sense. 

The medic fed on unsuspecting people long before they settled into this… arrangement. If he garnered too much attention, then it would make hunting more difficult, more dangerous.

_ When one chooses to walk the way of the Mandalore, you are both hunter and prey. _

With his Armorer’s words echoing in his mind, the bounty hunter steers the man into a nearby alley, and sticks to the less traveled back streets until they make it to the tavern.

He pretends not to notice the grateful look Owen shoots his way.

A young woman greets the trio as they enter the modest establishment, and her eyes immediately zero in on his son. Din watches the other man tense when the innkeeper moves into his space to fawn over the little green child, who looks all too happy to make a new friend.

It isn’t difficult to barter a reasonable price for a room with her so focused on his son.

“One room,” he asks, carefully observing Owen out of the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction.

“Only got the one room,” the woman states with a shrug, cooing at the toddler. “Sorry, but it’s our busy season. Take it or leave it.”

The doctor twitches when she moves closer, and he finds himself agreeing to the single room if only to get the other man away from the innkeeper before the red-head decides to take a chunk out of her neck.

At least the room is decently sized and clean, Din breathes a sigh of relief when he spots the two beds. It’s not that he would mind sharing with the other man, it’s just he’d probably shoot Paz if the man made any snide remarks about it.

Knowing the huge idiot that was still a possibility, though.

He glances at Owen when the man deflates with a weary groan as soon as he releases the kid from the improvised  _ birikad. _

The Mandalorian hesitates, and the doctor must sense it because he looks up to meet the bounty hunter’s visor.

“I need you to watch the kid.”

Green eyes narrow at him, a frown tugging at the man’s lips. “Okay, but why?”

“I need to meet up with Paz before I bring him back here-.”

“To make sure he’s the real deal,” Owen finishes, eyes softening into something more understanding, but he still looks uncomfortable.

“Owen,” he asks, tilting his helm at the man.

“It’s nothing-.”

“It’s not nothing,” he presses, taking a step forward. “Tell me.”

“It’s just,” the red-head’s face contorts into a look of uncertainty. “I  _ thought _ people were looking at us- _ me _ funny out there.”

He nods slowly. “You’re traveling with a Mandalorian. We tend to gain a good bit of attention wherever we go.”

Owen chuckles, and the tension eases from his shoulders. “Yeah, okay. Guess I’m just being paranoid.”

“Being wary isn’t a bad thing,” he firmly states, and the doctor gives a non-committal hum in reply.

Steeling his nerves, Din moves closer to the red-head, and leans in to press his helm against the man’s forehead.

“I won’t be long.”

“Okay,” the other man breathes, face flushing at the close proximity.

The bounty hunter turns to his son next, speaking to the little one softly in Mando’a before checking over his weapons, and heading back out into the darkening streets.

He just manages to catch the doctor’s whispered words before he bolts the door behind him.

“Be safe, Din.”

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

Of course, he has to trek halfway across the expansive city to meet the overgrown child that is his  _ vod. _ Granted, it wasn’t entirely the heavy gunner’s fault. The bounty hunter knew he was being overly cautious, but he couldn’t chance bringing his small clan to meet with someone who might be impersonating one of his kind.

By the time he steps into the junkyard that doubles for a mechanic’s shop, the sun has already set, and Din is seriously contemplating just leaving the other Mandalorian behind.

Being so far away from his son makes his trigger finger itch.

He leans against the wall as he watches the heavy gunner bicker with an older Twi'lek, feeling something settle within him when he’s able to confirm it’s actually the big idiot. The blue male alien the other is arguing with spots him first, and sends Din a scowl.

The mechanic huffs, motions his way, and turns on his heel to stomp off across the cluttered garage.

Paz heaves a sigh, kicking at the dirt flooring, and rounds on Din.

“Do not say anything,  _ beyora,” _ the man snarls.

He eyes the other Manadlaorian before glancing at the smoking heap of metal that was barely recognizable as a ship. What a waste of credits...

“Wouldn’t dream of it,  _ Alor’ad.” _

He knows the smirk is evident in his voice, and his  _ vod _ bristles like an angry loth-cat at the tone.

“Where’s the kid?”

It’s a clear attempt at changing the subject, but he’ll allow it for now.

Din can always torment the man later once his clan is securely back under his watchful eye.

“Safe,” he grunts, shifting his weight. “Are you done here?”

The large Mandalorian stares down at him for a moment, and he almost expects the man to question him further about the child’s whereabouts, but gets an irritated grumble instead.

_ “Elek,” _ Paz shrugs. “I was able to sell my ship, so hopefully the Crest is still functional.”

He cocks his head at the man. “Someone actually bought it?”

“For scrap,” the Twi'lek mechanic calls out, eyeing the pair from where he’s hunched over a speederbike with his tools.

Din has to clear his throat to keep the bubble of laughter from erupting from his gut. The growl Paz sends his way doesn’t help, and he’s forced to bite the inside of his mouth or risk the ire of the larger warrior.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

He’d spent the entire trip back trying to sort his emotions, while the larger man pouted about that trashed ship. The Mandalorian is still trying to figure out a way of explaining Owen’s existence to his  _ vod _ as they near the tavern where he’d left the child and the other man.

It wasn’t everyday that someone happened upon a bloodsucking creature from lore that they may or may not be contemplating about courting.

He was so kriffed…

“Din,” Paz’s stern voice pulls him from his thoughts, and he follows the man’s visor only to stop dead in his tracks.

Smoke. There was dark smoke pouring into the darkened sky from several buildings in the distance.

One of those buildings could be the inn.

He takes off into a dead sprint, the heavy gunner on his heels, and rounds a corner. Every curse in his vast vocabulary tumbles from his lips when he realizes that the quaint little inn was completely engulfed in flames. Din nearly dives into a fire, but a shout from a familiar voice pulls him back.

The innkeeper jogs up to him, his son clutched to her chest. 

_ Adi’ika _ cries out, reaching for him and the Mandalorian gratefully takes his child back. Other than being dirty and scared, his son doesn’t appear hurt.

It becomes suddenly harder to breathe when he realizes Owen is not in the crowd milling around the street.

“It was hunters. At least, they looked like bounty hunters,” the woman tells him, wringing her hands when both Mandalorians turn their attention on her. “I didn’t get a good look, but your friend told me to hide the little one. I heard screaming and then they just torched the place. I-I think they took the man you were traveling with.”

He can  _ feel _ Paz’s surprise at this information, but he doesn’t allow that to skew his focus.

“Where,” he demands, voice dropping into a dangerous snarl. “Where did they take him?”

The woman falters at his rage, but quickly pulls herself together to stutter out an answer. “One of my regulars said they saw the lot heading back towards the large shipping port to the east. He said they were dragging something with them.”

Din gives a curt nod before pushing his way through the street to slip into an unoccupied alley.

The heavy gunner steps into the shadows along with the father and son, using his bulk to shield the pair from any prying eyes.

“Friend?”

The  _ beyora _ growls. “Owen. He’s a doctor. Helped me treat  _ Adi’ika _ when he got sick.”

“He helped you?”

“Yes.”

“You trust him?”

There isn’t an ounce of hesitation when he replies. “Yes.”

Paz falls silent for a moment, visor never leaving the seething form of the shorter Mandalorian.

“Do you know where this port is,” the heavy gunner asks.

There’s anger in the man’s voice now, not nearly enough to match the rage steadily building in him, but it’s there.

“Yes.”

Of course he does. The large shipyard could nearly be spotted from orbit, he’d be a fool to miss something that big.

“Then let’s get your doctor back,” the larger Mandalorian growls, and Din allows his own face to stretch into a feral grin.

There will be blood spilled tonight.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

There were times when he and Paz often butted heads, sometimes over the smallest of things.

Then, there were times like this, where Din is reminded that even with their differences, the other Mandalorian had his back. No matter the mission.

The port is dark when they slip past the gates, but not quiet. He can hear the hunters long before he sees them.

Most of the men are drunk, the only two not partaking in the festivities is an IG unit that appears offline while another man works on the droid.

Five of the hunters fall to his and Paz’s wrath before the other three even notice they have visitors. The others are easily dealt with when the larger Mandalorian pulls his cannon out. In any other situation, he would have probably chastised the man for using the weapon on such pathetic targets, but Din lets it go.

They didn’t have time for finesse.

The  _ beyora _ ducks into the larger ship, noting the lack of carbonite freezer, and he’s not sure if he’s grateful for that or not.

There’s one more man inside the ship who gets a vibroblade to the gut when the Mandalorian spots the blood staining the hunter’s hands.

The wound won’t kill him, not yet, but it is painful.

Pain makes for a good motivator.

“Where is he,” he growls, giving the knife a twist when the hunter hesitates.

The man screams, flails and gasps out an answer through his tears. “B-back. That mo-monster is in the b-back…”

Din doesn’t listen to whatever else he has to say, he yanks the blade out of the man’s belly and slits his throat in one practised move

He’s glad that the larger Mandalorian had volunteered to keep the child with him. The little one didn’t need to see this.

True to the dying man’s word, there’s a small cell in the very back of the cargohold, the entrance nearly hidden behind several crates of what looked like illegal weapons.

The room is dark and cold when he manages to pry the door open. Instead of activating the night vision, he opts for the light installed on his helm. The beam cuts through the darkness as he scans for any other threats, then looks down.

A single body is curled into a ball near the far corner facing away from him, but he doesn’t need to see the man’s face to know it’s the doctor. He’d be able to recognize the vibrant tufts of red hair anywhere.

Owen doesn’t move when he slowly enters, and Din’s heart clenches painfully when he steps closer and takes in the horror. The medic is covered in blood with his hands cuffed behind his back, one arm is turning a nasty array of black and blue. He hopes it isn’t broken.

The Mandalorian kneels next to the prone form, and that is when a glint of metal catches his eye.

He hadn’t seen it before, most of Owen’s long hair, now free of its normal tie, had concealed much of the device.

There’s a rusty, metal cage locked around the man’s head. Like a muzzle you might find on some vicious beast.

Din has to breathe through the rising anger in his chest, reminding himself that the hunters were dead. There wasn’t anyone left for him to punish for this crime.

That doesn’t stop him from wishing he had made the last one suffer a bit longer.

“Owen,” he whispers, hand reaching out towards the man, but he falters, unsure what’s safe for him to touch without causing more harm.

The body twitches just slightly, a groan issuing from the doctor, and that metal restraint turns towards him enough for the Mandalorian to see one dull green eye peer up at him.

The other man groans again, the one visible eye rolling up into his head as the doctor fights to stay conscious, and Din lays a hand on one tense shoulder to keep him from moving too much.

“You’re alright,” Din whispers fervently, he isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince the red-head or himself. 

He moves to unlock the manacles with the keys he’d pocketed off his last victim, still muttering reassurances into the deafening silence of the cell. 

“I have you. You’re going to be okay.”

Owen settles at his ramblings, ragged breathing calming into something more slow, and even. Bolstered by this he keeps talking, switching between Basic and Mando’a, flitting between subjects, never lingering on one subject for more than a handful of minutes. 

The doctor whimpers when his hands are finally free of the bonds, but Din curses when he realizes there isn’t a key for the guard locked around the man’s head.

“I’m sorry,  _ cyare,” _ he murmurs, carefully helping the man sit up, and running a clinical hand over Owen’s torso as he looks for other wounds. “But we need to get you out of here now. I promise to get that  _ thing _ off of you once we get back to the Crest.”

The doctor hums, then leans forward to gently bump his head against one of his pauldrons. 

No hard feelings, then.

It’s a challenge to get the man up onto his feet, the red-head sways dangerously even with his firm hold on his waist, and his injured arm daggles limply at his side.

It was going to be a long walk back to the RazorCrest.

Paz is at the end of the ramp, standing guard over the entrance to the ship, and speaking quietly to the child. At the sound of Owen’s stumbling footsteps, the large Mandalorian turns.

The doctor blinks owlishly up at the taller man, and his  _ vod _ shifts uncomfortably.

“What the kriff is that on his face,” the heavy gunner demands, stepping a bit closer to inspect the device.

Din shakes his helm, and readjusts his grip on the medic. “Not sure, but we’ll worry about it once we get back to the Crest.”

The larger man takes in the dazed, injured man at his side, and gently holds out the toddler.

“Take him,” Paz orders, moving closer to the pair. “Your… friend doesn’t look like he’s in any condition to walk.”

Which was a fair assessment. Just standing seemed to drain whatever energy the red-head had left.

It took a bit of juggling, especially with the child trying to squirm his way out of his father’s hands in an attempt to get to Owen. The doctor reaches a trembling hand out to brush a finger over the fluff atop the little one’s head, and that calms the tot, somewhat.  _ Adi’ika _ still didn’t look happy, but at least he wasn’t trying to claw his way out of Din’s arms.

Paz murmured a low apology at the red-head’s pained whine when the Mandalorian pulled the smaller male into his arms, then they’re off, disappearing back into the darkened back streets of the city.

They don’t make it very far before Owen goes shockingly limp in Paz’s arms. The heavy gunner curses quietly when he has to shift his grip on the dead weight, or risk dropping the thinner man.

The doctor is unresponsive to Din’s attempts at waking him, and both Mandalorians pick up the pace.

Once they board the Crest, and the lights overhead flare to life, the full extent of the doctor’s injuries are revealed.

Before, he could only really see the blood soaking into the man’s shirt, and the damaged arm. Now, though, it was clear the red-head had sustained a prolonged beating. The right arm was either broken or severely sprained, the entire limb covered in deep bruising that was painful just to look at. More bruises, burns, and cuts litter what visible flesh there is, and Din feels sick at the thought of what might be hiding  _ under _ the man’s clothes.

There was too much blood covering the medic’s form to be just his, and Din wonders if the reason behind the muzzle was because the Vampyr had bitten one of the hunters in self defense. He runs through the short list of hunters they’d slaughtered to get to the doctor, but he can’t remember seeing one with an obvious bite mark. He hopes whoever Owen bit hadn’t survived the attack, because if they had, the  _ beyora _ would track them down, and finish what the man had started.

“Get us off the surface,” the heavy gunner growls, jarring him from his thoughts of revenge, and shoves the bounty hunter towards the ladder. “I have him for now. Go!”

The Mandalorian’s hands shake as he powers on the various systems, and pilots them away from that cursed planet. He punches in a route he knows all too well, one that will take them back to Navarro and once the ship enters hyperdrive, he flings himself back down the ladderwell to check on his clan.

In the short time he was gone, Paz had dug out a pair of metal cutters from his stash of tools he keeps for ship maintenance, and is carefully eyeing the cage when he returns. The other Mandalorian has Owen laid out on the thin cot that passes for a bed with the child hovering near his left side, the little one whimpers up at his father when Din draws closer.

He whispers a quick string of reassurances in Mando’a to the baby, and gets a scowl in return.

Din doesn’t blame the little one.

“What do you need me to do,” he asks, redirecting his eyes towards the still form on the bench.

The heavy gunner glances at him over a massive shoulder, before turning back to the smaller man. “Hold his head still. I don’t want to cause more damage if he decides to wake up while I’m cutting his thing off of him.”

He gives a quick nod, and moves to the head of the bench to crouch down, and takes a hold of either side of the doctor’s head. Din gently turns the man’s face away so his  _ vod _ has better access to the back of the metal guard.

It takes far too long to make progress on the rusty device, so long in fact, that Owen startles awake. Wide, tearful, green eyes flicker around the room, and the man’s uninjured hand whips up to take a white-knuckled grip on one of Din’s arms.

He shushes the man, speaking quietly to try to soothe him as Paz continues to snip away at the back of the muzzle.

Finally, the larger Mandalorian tosses the tool to the side, the sound of it striking against the opposite wall causing the red-head to jump violently, and uses both hands to wrench the weakened bits apart. Din helps the other shift the medic into a sitting position, and Paz carefully pulls the cage off at last.

Owen immediately makes a retching sound, and both Mandalorian move out of the way so the red-head can lean over the side of the cot to spit a mouthful of blood and bile onto the floor.

He hears Paz curse again, and snaps his head up, freezing when he spots what the other Mandalorian is staring at. Inside the metal cage was a bar resembling a bit from a riding animal’s tack. Possibly the worst part was discovering that the sharp, rusty state of the device wasn’t just present on the outside. The interior of the muzzle looked just as horrible, maybe even more so knowing that the doctor had had part of it shoved into his mouth.

His stomach drops, there’s blood coating the metal within.

That, at least, explained why the man hadn’t tried to talk.

Once it’s clear that Owen is finished, Din reaches out to help the man sit back up. He senses his  _ vod _ tense next to him when they both get a clear look at the doctor’s face, but he ignores that for now.

Part of the man’s face is swollen and bruised. Badly.

But that’s not what really catches his attention. Those black tendrils, once hidden by the cage, are clearly marring the pale skin around the thinner man’s upper face, and are slowly beginning to encroach into the bloodshot whites of his eyes.

“Owen,” he breathes, hands combing carefully through red locks. “Talk to me.”

The Mandalorian’s fingers discover a nasty knot on the side of the man’s head, the doctor hisses when his touch grazes over the wound.

“Hurts.”

The voice is barely loud enough to hear over the hum of the ship’s engines, and his heart clenches in his chest.

“What do you need?”

Owen’s eyes are half lidded , but he can still can the pupils dilate at the question, Din knows what needs to be done. He pulls the man closer so the red-head can lean on him for support, then begins to unlatch one pauldron.

A hand clamps down on his wrist, and he nearly snarls at the other Mandalorian.

“Din,” Paz grits out in warning, and the bounty hunter shakes the hand off.

He glances at the large man out of the corner of his visor. “Trust me,  _ vod.” _

The heavy gunner watches him for a long moment, then slowly rocks back on his heels with a silent nod.

Removing the piece of armor, and pulling the neck of his  _ kute _ to the side is the easy part. What isn’t is positioning the limp body of the other man so his head is cushioned on the exposed skin.

He swallows when nothing happens. He can hear Owen’s shallow breathing, can even feel the man’s soft exhales on his shoulder, but the doctor makes no move to begin feeding, and that is concerning. 

Din mutters a soft apology into the man’s hair before he reaches around to pinch the blackened flesh on the medic’s wounded arm between two fingers. The red-head jolts awake with a cry, and the Mandalorian has no time to prepare himself before those long fangs sink into the croak of his neck.

It stings worse than any of the other feedings, and he can’t help the hiss of pain that escapes past his clenched teeth. The sound does seem to reach Owen even in his haze of pain, however, because the man loosens his jaw a fraction.

The Mandalorian wraps one hand around the creature's waist as the other gently combs through the tangled mane of hair, and the man awards him with a groan of appreciation at the action.

_ Adi’ika _ steps closer, ears pinned back, and makes a concerned little noise as he closely watches the Vampyr with worried eyes.

Paz lets out a string of curses in Mando’a, and he glances at the larger man over the top of the doctor’s head.

“All those years of listening to those myths and not one of the elders decides to clarify that bloodsuckers are kriffing real,” the Mandalorian growls, but there’s no real heat behind the words.

He sounds more awed by the fact he was in the presence of a  _ tal chakaar  _ than anything.

Din chuckles, massaging the skin at the base of Owen’s skull. “In their defense, I don’t think they really believed most of the stories they were telling.”

“There’s always some level of truth in old legends,  _ vod,” _ the heavy gunner scoffs, tilting his head as he watches the red-head feed. “How much will he take?”

“Normally,” Din asks, and he can just  _ feel _ the deadpan look the other man throws his way. “About a mouthful, but with these injuries…”

He doesn’t know, because he’d never felt the need to question the Vampyr about his dietary needs if he was hurt.

Din was a fucking idiot…

From the way the other Mandalorian was staring at him he was pretty sure Paz would agree with him on that.

Apparently, they needn’t have worried. A minute later, and the man goes lax in his arms as he falls back into unconsciousness.

But that did leave him with a major problem, because Owen’s teeth were still embedded deep into the muscle of his shoulder. At least the thinner man’s jaw had slackened a bit, but not nearly enough for either of the Mandalorians to feel comfortable with trying to pry the man’s mouth open.

Instead of waking the injured medic, Din shifted into a more comfortable position, and the heavy gunner shakes his helm in disbelief.

“You’re just going to wait it out,” Paz demands, lowering his volume when the red-head curled into the  _ beyora’s  _ side twitches in his sleep.

“I’d prefer  _ not _ to lose a good chunk of my dominant shoulder, so... yes.”

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

He leaves the piloting to Paz. The man has been on his ship enough times to know the ins and outs of the RazorCrest’s systems, so he trusts the heavy gunner to not steer them into an asteroid field. The other Mandalorian only leaves the room long enough to check on their course, then returns to hover awkwardly by his side as they wait for the Vampyr to wake.

He isn’t able to see the doctor’s entire face from where it’s pressed into his neck, but he is able to watch as the dark bruising on the red-head’s arm begins to fade.

The larger Mandalorian watches silently as the various injuries on the smaller man heal, and Din can sense the disbelief radiating off of the warrior.

It’s about a standard hour later, when Owen’s breathing changes.

_ “Cyare,” _ he questions softly, and the doctor groans in response.

The one green eye he’s able to see in his peripheral blinks open, the pupil still dilated, and that alone is enough to confirm his suspicion that the man was suffering from a concussion.

Owen startles, and unlocks his jaw before slowly pulling away. Din keeps a hold of thin hips to steady the other man when the red-head nearly topples himself off balance.

“‘M sorry,” the medic slurs, grimacing when he tries to move his injured appendage.

The Mandalorian hums, and carefully maneuvers out from under the medic. Paz steps up to take the man’s weight while Din stretches, and the doctor blinks unfocused eyes up at the larger man.

He turns to a piece of polished metal he uses as a mirror to inspect the bite on his shoulder, and finds the skin already beginning to heal. When he shifts back around to take the doctor from his  _ vod, _ he finds the larger Mandalorian staring at him.

He knows what the other man is looking at, he’s watched the same process happen countless times on his arms. Din can  _ feel _ the skin on his neck getting tight, the flesh knitting itself back together as the wound closes, and, maybe, he should really ask Owen about that one of these days…

The large man shakes his head, grumbling under his breath.  _ “Shi gar ru’kul gaanader a tal chakaar par gar cyare.” _

Paz scoops the child up off the mattress, and into his arms as the bounty hunter nudges the confused medic back down on the cot, but Din thinks better of it at the last moment. Owen blinks up at the pair blankly.

“Din,” the red-head whispers, voice cracking from disuse. “Wha’ happ’ed? Wh’s this?”

“You’re alright,” he repeats, then looks over to the other Mandalorian. “We should get him cleaned up.”

The heavy gunner snorts. “Who’s this ‘we’? I’ll watch the little one, but you’re on your own with this,  _ vod.” _

The  _ beyora _ heaves a bone-tired sigh, then nods towards the foot of the cot. “His bag is under there. Hand it to me.”

With the rucksack in one hand, and the other curled around the doctor’s waist, he carefully guides the concussed man towards the refresher.

The one luxury that the Crest provides is a decently sized washroom, which Din is eternally grateful for when it’s clear that anything smaller wouldn’t have fit both men. It’s actually still a tight fit, and after a moment of debate, the Mandalorian quickly sheds his armor, except for the helm, and leaves it piled neatly outside.

He swallows down a flurry of emotions as he begins to strip the ruined clothes off the man’s body. Owen simply stands there, propped against the bounty hunter’s side, completely docile and trusting.

Once the man is bare, he helps the doctor into the sonic-shower. When Owen’s legs nearly buckle under his own weight, Din climbs into the booth alongside him, not trusting that the man won’t crack his head open if left to his own devices.

The red-head whines when he turns the sonics on, no doubt the sound is painful to the man’s already sensitive hearing, but couple that with the concussion, it was probably unbearable. 

The Mandalorian works quickly, keeping his eyes respectfully above the waistline, and murmurs a stream of comforting nonsense when the medic presses his face into the crook of his neck with a pitiful whimper.

Owen is flagging by the time he pulls him out of the shower stall, barely holding on to consciousness.

Din does his best to dress the man without allowing his eyes to wander over the expanse of exposed flesh. He’s not entirely successful, and a sickening feeling of guilt settles in his gut.

Clean, and now on the mend, he steers the doctor back out into the cargohold, and towards the bed. As soon as Owen’s head hits the thin pillow, the man is out. At least this time, it’s a deep sleep, not a near comatose state brought on by pain.

“I believe you owe me a story,  _ vod.” _

Din glances over at the larger Mandalorian, watching him place the toddler next to the sleeping figure. His son immediately crawls up the cot to curl under the man’s chin.

“Alright,” he sighs, tilting his helm at the heavy gunner. “You ever heard of Croup?”

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

Waking is a long, painful process for Owen. Noises filter in first, causing his head to pound, and he wishes he would just pass out again. Smells come next, and he’s startled by the fact he can even smell anything at all. The metal guard those hunters had used on him had flooded his senses with the scent of blood, metal, and decay. It had kept him nose-blind to the rest of the room they’d kept him in, leaving the doctor disoriented, and anxious.

The Vampyr doesn’t want to open his eyes only to see he’s still trapped in that pitch black room aboard the hunter vessel. It’s cruel enough that his brain had conjured up the hallucination of his Mandalorian coming to the rescue, caring for his wounds. Stripping him out of those blood soaked clothes…

The red-head just wanted to pretend a little longer, but something had another idea.

There was a warmth tucked in close to his neck, and the soft coo of the baby jerked him out of his daydreaming…

_ No, no, NO… They found the little one? That wasn’t possible. He hadn’t told them anything! _

The doctor’s eyes flew open, catching a glimpse of green, before the toddler is snatched up by a tall figure, and Owen cries out as he lunges after the little one.

He must have surprised the other person, because he’s able to claw at the slackened hands, and pull the toddler against his chest, curling protectively around the babe. He bares his fangs at the assailant with a feral hiss tacked on at the end for good measure.

His right arm feels like it’s on fire, and his head swims at the sudden movement, but he manages to push past the discomfort.

“Din!  _ Ve’ganir daab olar!” _

That gives him pause.

He- he recognises that name…

Then, like a gift from the Maker, his Mandalorian appears. The shine from the man’s armor causes his head to give another horrible throb like it wants to split open, and for a moment, it feels like he might be sick.

A hand settles on the back of his neck, massaging the tense muscles there, and he leans into the touch.

_ “Cyare,” _ the Mandalorian breathes out the word like a prayer.

Owen squints at him, the light is too bright, the gleam from the armor makes his stomach turn dangerously, but the doctor has never been more happy to see the bounty hunter.

“Y-you,” his voice sticks in his dry throat, and he has to clear it a few times before he’s able to get the words out. “You came.”

That seems to startle the other man. Din stares at him for a long minute, then huffs out something in that beautiful language he can’t understand.

“Of course I came for you,  _ di’kut. _ You belong with us.”

The red-head leans his head against the Mandalorian’s shoulder as he laughs, and if it comes out a little hysterical, no one calls attention to it.

He relishes this moment for as long as he can. The warmth from the child cuddling into his chest. The scent of leather, and blaster oil wafting off of the bounty hunter.

He’s still sore, tired, and he’s pretty sure he’s got a concussion, but this moment is perfect.

It’s perfect, because it’s  _ real. _

But, like all good things, it has to come to an end far too early.

The creak of another set of armor, the sound of someone else shifting their weight. It pulls the medic from this little reprieve from the real world, and he bristles.

Din pulls back slowly, keeping a firm grip on one of his shoulders, and Owen glances at the other figure hovering near the opposite wall of the cargohold.

A massive Mandalorian in blue armor stares right back at him, the sheer size of the man makes him press just a bit closer to the bounty hunter.

“Owen, this is my  _ vod-.” _

The larger warrior huffs impatiently, and takes a half step forward. “Just promise not to hiss at me again, and you can call me Paz,  _ tal chakaar’ika.” _

He blinks at the Mandalorian, feeling his face flush with embarrassment.

“Kriff,” he murmurs. “I-I’m sorry-.”

“You  _ hissed _ at him,” Din’s question interrupts his apology, and he can hear the grin in the man’s voice.

“...Maybe.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Well, I’m sure he deserved it,” his Mandalorian chuckles.

Paz makes a dejected noise in response, but doesn’t deny the claim.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

The doctor tries not to think about the fact that he’s in a completely different set of clothing than what he had on when the hunters had captured him. The realization that he’s free of blood and grime had nearly given him a heart attack.

For his own sanity, the doctor decides to ignore that for the time being.

One of the Mandalorians always stays close by, Din especially, while the child seems content to cling to his shirt. Whenever one of the men tries to move the little one, it results in the babe digging his surprisingly sharp little claws into Owen’s already tender flesh, so the bounty hunter stops trying after the third attempt.

When he had pulled himself up to test his legs, he made the mistake of using his injured arm to support himself on the wall. The limb, of course, had protested this by sending a sudden wave of pain up the entire arm so sharp and acute that it had him doubling over with a scream. His Mandalorian had forbidden him from moving from the thin cot after that, and, honestly, Owen just didn't have the energy to argue.

The red-head spends the time cuddling with the child, and inspecting the rest of wounds littering his body. Noting the progression of his healing, he deduces that Din must have gotten blood into his system somehow.

He doesn’t remember feeding, though, and that leaves a sickening feeling in his gut.

The other men take turns piloting the RazorCrest, and standing guard over him. He’s not sure where they’re going, but the soft hum of the engines is a comfort that soothes his frayed nerves.

The doctor watches Paz climb up into the cockpit as the pair switch shifts for the night.

His Mandalorian had disappeared into the refresher a few minutes ago, tossing him a warning look from behind that helmet that clearly meant ‘stay put’. Owen can hear the sound of the man stripping off his armor from the other side of that door, and the doctor's gaze flickers around the cargohold, looking for a distraction, as his face heats up.

The soft hiss of the door draws his attention back, and he freezes.

The bounty hunter is down to his helmet and undersuit, the tight material clinging to his figure in a way that has a certain part of the red-head’s anatomy twitching with interest.

Din tilts his helm at him, seems to come to some sort of decision, and reaches out to carefully try to detangle the child from Owen’s arms. Thanks to the kid’s drowsy state, he doesn’t put up much of a fight, but does make a disgruntled whine. He calms when his father begins humming a tune that is unfamiliar with Owen. 

Once the little one is tucked into his makeshift bed inside that converted storage unit the Mandalorian turns back around, and swats lightly at one of the red-head’s hips.

“Move over.”

“What,” he shakily asks, heart catching in his throat.

He can imagine the deadpan look that the Mandalorian levels at him, and the red-head quickly scrambles to obey the man’s command, before Din crawls his way up the thin mattress.

Owen nearly tips over the side of the bed in his haste to move, but a strong arm wraps around his waist. He’s tugged back onto the cot with seemingly little effort, and his back is pulled flush against a toned chest.

And if his heart beats any faster, he might just have a coronary.

The cold press of metal against the back of his head makes him shiver, and he has a momentary spike of panic when his mind flashes back to that rusty metal mask. He can almost feel it cutting into his face, that bar forced between his teeth, and he exhales slowly through his nose in an attempt to keep from hyperventilating. The Mandalorian tenses, and the pressure against the back of his skull pulls back.

“Owen,” Din asks quietly. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”

One of the man’s hands has settled against his sternum, and he focuses on that to help ground himself.

“Y-yeah,” he squeaks out.

It’s a blatant lie, and from the sound of the unimpressed huff behind him, the other man knows it.

“Can you feel me breathing,” the Mandalorian asks, pulling the medic a bit tighter to himself.

The bounty hunter inhales deeply, the doctor feeling the man’s chest expanding enough to push against his spine, and gives a shaky nod.

“Breathe with me,” Din instructs, exhaling just as leisurely, and the red-head finds himself following along without really noticing.

They lay there together, breathing in sync for a while, and when the Mandalorian leans his helm forward again to rest it against his shoulder, Owen doesn’t tense.

The anxiety and fear leave him feeling drained. He doesn’t remember a time when he has ever felt more exhausted, not even when he’d gone those four long days without feeding. 

“What happened?”

The question is quiet, barely above a whisper, the doctor lets out a trembling breath.

“The kid, he got hungry. I took him out into the tavern to get us both some food-,” he pauses a moment, trying to sort his racing thoughts before continuing. “It was crowded, loud. I should have  _ heard _ them sooner, but-.”

“Breathe,  _ cyare.” _

He relaxes back into Din’s arms, and one of the man’s hands begins playing with his hair.

Owen sighs. “I gave the kid to that innkeeper-  _ sorry, he seemed to like her _ \- told her to leave through the back. They-they recognized me? Didn’t take much to convince them to focus on me instead of the child.”

The hand on his scalp stills. “What did you do?”

He doesn’t answer, and the bounty hunter sighs.

“You bit one of them, didn’t you?”

The red-head nods, tears forming in his eyes. “We don’t kill. My sister  _ always _ told me that. Drilled it into my head day after day. We take what we need, then move on. No harm, no foul. A person wakes up with a headache at worst, and thinks they just drank too much the night before.”

The Mandalorian’s hand goes back to running through his hair, and the man gives him an encouraging little squeeze with the other arm.

He swallows, heart hammering in his chest. “B-but I couldn’t let them get to the kid. So… I bit them… Killed them.”

Owen doesn’t even remember if his victim had been a male or female, but he can still hear the half scream that the human had tried to force out before he’d pulled back sharply, the sound of ripping flesh, the taste of rot that poured into his mouth.

He’d torn the person’s throat out, and been too stunned by his own action to defend himself when the others had shaken off their surprise, and horror. The group had descended upon him with a vengeance, but they had momentarily forgotten about the child so that, at least, had brought the doctor some level of comfort. 

“So you don’t drain people dry?”

The new voice startles him, and he snaps his head over. Paz is leaning casually against the bottom of the ladderwell, visor pointed directly at the two men laying on the cot.

He would have jumped up if it wasn’t for Din’s arm wrapped tightly around his waist.

“No-,” Owen whispers, squirming under the large man’s scrutiny. “That- no. That’s just a stupid old wive’s tale.”

The other Mandalorian actually laughs at that. The noise is low, and quiet to keep from waking the little one, but it’s clearly a laugh.

“You hear that,  _ vod. _ The elders have been telling old wive’s tales for decades.”

Din huffs, but the doctor can hear the smirk in the man’s tone.

The red-head stares at the larger man before his eyes flick back towards Din.

“Mandalorians tell stories about us?”

“I wouldn’t call them stories, really,” Paz says, giving his helm a shake. “More like warnings that are overembellished to scare foundlings.”

“Kept us from wandering out at night,” Din explains when the red-head blinks blankly at him.

“At least until we were old enough to realize they were just old legends…,” Paz trails off, the last bit of his sentence coming out slow. “...and not the truth.”

The room falls silent for a moment, then his Mandalorian snorts, and he can’t help the grin that tugs at his own lips.

“Kriff,” Paz chuckles. “Still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’m in the same room as a  _ tal chakaar. _ Can you see in the dark without infra-googles? Oh, do you actually fly, or is that bantha shit too?”

Owen’s brain stalls for a moment, jaw going slack.

“Wha-No. Tal-what? No, I can’t  _ fly.” _

“Paz,” Din huffs, voice lowering into an accusatory tone. ”One question at a time,  _ di’kut.  _ And shouldn’t you be flying the damn ship?”

“We’re in hyperspace now. Not much to do other than stare out the viewports, and I heard you two talking,” the man shrugs, waving the bounty hunter’s concern off with a flap of one hand, and the red-head grins.

These two acted more like brothers than simple friends, and Owen found it adorable to watch them banter back and forth.

Would he ever say that to either of the armored warriors?

No. He’d take that little secret to his grave.

“What was that you called me,” the medic asks hesitantly, and Paz glances up at him.

The two Mandalorians share a look, then the blue armored warrior dips his head a fraction of an inch.

Din is the one to answer, and he sounds almost apologetic when he does. “Blood thief.”

He tilts his head in thought, then hums in agreement after a few seconds. “That’s actually pretty accurate.”

The man behind him chuckles, the deep sound causing a tingle to travel down his spine.

“So,” Paz prompts as he leans forward, curiosity clear in his voice.

Owen finds himself warming to the other man, his child-like excitement was a startling juxtaposition to the huge terrifying size of the Mandalorian.

“No flying, and no night vision,” he confirms, shrugging one shoulder when he sees the man deflate. “I do have slightly better hearing, I guess. The strongest sense I have is smell, though.”

The larger man cocks his helm at that, perking up with interest. “Like a strill?”

“Strill,” he asks, glancing back at Din for clarification.

“They were hunting animals used by Mandalorians before the fall of Mandalore,” his Mandalorian patiently tells him. “Not sure if there’s still some out there. Never saw one myself, but it’s possible that the species was saved, and is being cared for by our people elsewhere.”

“Well, I'm not sure how I’d compare to one of those, but,” he chews his lips, debating with himself before quietly admitting: “I can smell your blood.”

The silence that follows the confession is deafening, he expects the bounty hunter to pull away like he’s some diseased, rabid animal. He wouldn’t blame his Mandaloiran if he did.

“Neither Paz nor I were injured," Din slowly points out.

The man doesn’t move away, but the body behind him does shift a bit on the cot.

Owen releases a shuddering breath. “I know. It would be stronger if you were.”

“You can smell our blood  _ while _ it’s still in our veins.”

He blinks, shocked when he realizes that the larger Mandalorian actually sounds  _ impressed. _

That… that was new. Not bad, per se, just… new.

The longer he stayed around the Mandalorians the more he’s astonished over their complete acceptance of his nature. It leaves him feeling off-kilter, like at any moment the rug was going to be pulled out from under him.

He wasn’t sure if these men were just insane, or a kriffing miracle from the Maker themselves. Maybe a little of both?

A part of his brain wonders if all Mandalorians were like this, or if it was just these two.

Either way, it left a warm feeling in his chest that he recognized as hope.

“Yeah,” he confirms, sinking down onto the thin pillow, and closing his eyes when the bounty hunter shifts impossibly closer. “Yeah, I can.”

He hears the man move, the beskar shifting together as he draws closer.

“What, Paz,” the bounty hunter demands irritably.

Owen peeks one eye open. The other man is hovering by the bed awkwardly, and the doctor makes an inquisitive little noise. The warmth radiating off of Din was beginning to lull him to sleep.

“Can I see them,” the man asks, motioning towards the lower part of his helmet.

The doctor blinks, Din goes still.

“You want to see his  _ teeth,” _ his Mandalorian questions with a growl, sounding offended on his behalf.

“You’ve gotten to see them!”

“Paz-.”

“Okay,” he murmurs quietly.

Both men freeze, turning their helms towards him, and Owen bites the inside of his mouth to keep from squirming.

“It’s fine,” he reassurances the bounty hunter, looking over his shoulder with a lopsided grin.

Din sighs, and nods at the larger man.

Paz crouches down at the side of the bed, and how is it even possible for the Mandalorian to look bigger like that?

Owen breathes through the spike of anxiety, opening his mouth before he can second guess this whole thing, and back out.

A low, muffled whistle comes from under that blue helmet, and the man tilts his head to the side to get a better angle.

“Let me guess,” the larger man begins in a flat tone. “They can’t cut through durasteel?”

That startles a laugh out of the red-head.

“No,” he gasps out between giggles.

Paz sighs dramatically, then reaches a hand out to grab a hold of his chin to continue his inspection.

The doctor finds he doesn’t mind the touch as much as he thought he might. 

Din, though, has the opposite reaction.

_ “Ulyc,  _ Paz,” his Mandalorian grits out.

_ “Mirdir ni kelir chakur gar cyare, beyora?” _

He isn’t able to understand what Paz is saying, but there’s a teasing inflection to it that has Din snarling.

_ “Usenye!” _

The man rises with a snort after releasing his grip on Owen’s face. The man throws a rude gesture towards the other Mandalorian, and a quick salute towards the doctor, then disappears back up the ladder.

_ “Good night, vod’e.” _

He blinks owlishly after the Mandalorian, Din still fuming at his back. The Mandalorian digs his fingers into his hip, the action is possessive. As is the growl he hears, as that beskar helmet presses into the back of his skull.

This time there’s no sudden rush of panic, no fight or flight response, and he relaxes into the touch as the other man repositions them both on the bed until he’s lying comfortably on his side with the bounty hunter curled around his back.

_ “Nuhoy, cyare,” _ the Mandalorian murmurs against the top of his head, helm nuzzling into his loose hair.

With the powerful warrior wrapped protectively around him, Owen allows his eyes to slip closed with a contented hum.

He wonders if Din, or Paz, would tell him what ‘cyare’ meant.

Owen is asleep before he even finishes the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beyora- bounty hunter  
> Alor'ad- Captain  
> Elek- Yes  
> Vod/Vod'e- Sibling/Siblings  
> Cyare- Beloved  
> Adi'ika- Little one  
> Tal chakaar- Blood thief  
> Shi gar ru’kul gaanader a tal chakaar par gar cyare- Only you would choose a blood thief as your beloved  
> Ve’ganir daab olar- Get down here  
> Di'kut- idiot  
> Ulyc- Careful  
> Mirdir ni kelir chakur gar cyare, beyora- Think I will steal your beloved, bounty hunter  
> Usenye- Get out  
> Nehoy- Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Cyar'ika- Darling  
> Beyora- Bounty Hunter  
> Ad'ika- small child, little one


End file.
